


Kin to Sorrow

by acatbyanyothername



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Don't copy to another site, M/M, Mortis (Star Wars), Obi Wan's infinite sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26677348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acatbyanyothername/pseuds/acatbyanyothername
Summary: On Mortis, Obi Wan Kenobi sees Qui Gon Jinn for the first time in more than ten years.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 22
Kudos: 54
Collections: Backwards QuiObi Bang





	Kin to Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Q111](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Q111/gifts).



> Again, [Tess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tessiete/pseuds/tessiete), you have my thanks for organising this challenge. 
> 
> Thank you to [Q1 ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Q111/pseuds/Q111)for the art that gave me so many feels that I decided to tackle a second prompt for this challenge.
> 
> Finally, thank you to the usual crew for their unwavering support. Pomiar, Lilibet, Scruffy and Tess, I love you all and you have my eternal thanks.

_There are a hundred places where I fear_

_To go,—so with his memory they brim._

It’s on Mortis that he sees him again. Had anyone asked Obi Wan who he thought he would meet on this planet; he would have answered “not him.” Not Qui Gon Jinn. Not his Master who had died in his arms more than ten years before, leaving behind a hole in Obi Wan’s life. The tragic mirror of the one who adorned Qui Gon’s chest and ultimately took him from Obi Wan’s side.

Nothing, not raising and training the nova-child that was Anakin Skywalker, nor rising to the Council managed to fill the void where his heart once resided. He learned to live with this absence and the hole had stabilized some years into his knighthood. The hungry black void had ceased to expand and seemed content to simply exist within him. 

Sometimes he wonders what was eaten by the abyss. Was it his love for Qui Gon? The pain of the memory? The little quirks and habits? The thousand little details that have been branded in his mind by twelve year of companionship? He wonders what fuels it. Pain? Grief? Anger? All those emotions a Jedi should release in the Force? But if so, why does he feel them so acutely still?

He finds his thoughts echoing the lines of an old poem he remembers reading once in the Archives. 

_Time does not bring relief._

_Who told me time would ease me of my pain!_

He wants to cry at the Force. He wants to go back the numbness of the funeral when his pain couldn’t reach or touch him. He wants to find this fragile glass wall that separated him from his emotions, that kept him away from the void.

If you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will stare back, they say. What they did not say is that the abyss is not content with lying passively in wait. The abyss is always ravenous. Stare at it long enough and it expands, reach towards you, an almost irresistible attraction. And you find yourself falling a little deeper each time, growing a little closer…

The War gave Obi Wan General Kenobi, and this is one thing he can be grateful for. General Kenobi never had a time to reflect on those he missed. They were too many. Death is the great equalizer they say, and so if he mourns one, he has to mourn all of them. He can’t cling to one more than the others, not when the deaths have long since ceased to be individuals and became numbers.

That does not mean he doesn’t remember or try to remember the name of the fallen. Why is the ghost of Qui Gon’s memory so unrelenting when so many others chase at his heels?

_But last year’s bitter loving must remain_

_Heaped upon my heart, and my old thoughts abide._

General Kenobi doesn’t have time for those haunting questions. He had battle plans to draw, an army to lead, planets to defend, enemies to keep track of. General Kenobi was a bastion of strength and resilience. 

The murmuring shadow had no grasp on this man made of armour. And so he donned the general persona again and again, almost never putting it down, until he wasn’t sure if the creaking he heard was his own joints or his armour. He’s not sure there’s a difference anymore. He's not sure he cares.

But here he is, on Mortis, Ahsoka sound asleep somewhere in the vast inky darkness of the cave, Anakin somewhere unknown. The glowing crystals cast a cold light that brings little to no comfort. It is chilling and Obi Wan is alone. 

General Kenobi had faded despite his best efforts to cling to him, but so far away from the battlefield and his men, he has no reason to exist. So he folds himself back into Obi Wan’s psyche and lies in wait when the call of battle will ring again. He and the abyss wait side by side.

Obi Wan is chilled to the bones, but sleep does not come. Silent sentinel whose loneliness keeps the terrors and phantoms of the night at bay. For the others. Not for him. Never for him. He’s used to it by now. Watching the world rest from the side lines, watchful but never part of the peace that seems to blanket the sleepers when they lay their head to rest.

But he can’t find any reprieve. The night stretches into infinity, second like hours, hours like days and months that the pendulum of time has long since ceased marking.

Obi Wan’s breaths have the quiet regularity of meditation. His gaze is turned inwards. The abyss is surprisingly quiet. There’s none of the ravenous churning he would have expected. 

Maybe it is because, like General Kenobi, this is not it’s place. This is neither the battlefield nor the galaxy that has seen Qui Gon perish. For a moment he dares hope. Maybe just tonight he can be Obi Wan without the glare and whisper of those who are with him, always.

_And entering with relief some quiet place_

_Where never fell his foot or shone his face_

_I say, “There is no memory of him here!”_

_And so stand stricken, so remembering him._

He is not prepared. He let his guard down. Hands folded on his laps, shoulders dropped, a frisson goes down his spine. He unfolds from his tired slouch. Eyes alert, body tense. He doesn't reach for his lightsaber. Not yet. He glances on his left. Everything is quiet. Ahsoka sleeps, dead to the world. There's nothing and no one there. 

But the abyss has woken up. It quivers inside. A glance to the left. Nothing. The Force is calm, but he doesn't trust it. Not here. Not on this strange planet. He can't trust his senses, but the abyss, that he can trust. He feels his eyes narrowing. He's being toyed with. He hates it. Still he looks one more time.

He doesn't know what he wants or hopes to see. But he's still disappointed and maybe a bit sad when the immobile gloom doesn't yield anything. His shoulders slump again, he bows his head. The abyss murmurs, whispers of comfort. His ever faithful companion.

He can't go back to meditating. He feels restless. Is there any exit from here? He can't see them. He would need to wake Ahsoka up. They can't linger here. His eyes sweep over in her direction again and his breathing freezes in his lungs. Long hair, partially tied in a half ponytail, long graceful limbs. Tunics folded neatly. He knows that figure. The abyss howls. 

_I miss him in the weeping of the rain;_

_I want him at the shrinking of the tide;_

The last time those tunics were askew and charred black, as if the funeral pyre had already claimed part of him. Those limbs had been boneless and useless when he had cradled them against his chest in a last desperate plea. And those strands of hair! They had been drenched in sweat, plastered against his dying brow.

The voice though, the voice is still the same. "Obi Wan," it says, "have you done as I asked, have you trained the boy?" And everything goes quiet. Time that had begun to flow again freezes. The abyss stills. Only the voice exists as it tears through Obi Wan. Past and present blur together. 

He's back in Theed. Desperation claws at him. He's hanging by a thread and the chasm below yawns ready to welcome him. He already failed. He cannot fail again. His master is waiting for him. Silver and black. Again. His master's silhouette stands out in stark relief. Just like last time.

Obi Wan leaps on his feets and slowly backs away from the ghostly apparition. His lightsaber is in his hands. Blade unseathed. He doesn't know when he drew his lightsaber or how it came in his hand. He doesn't care. Ahsoka still sleeps. Unnaturally still. The padawan doesn't stir at the commotion. He's alone. He's enough. He has to be.

"Master Qui Gon? How are you here?" He can't. Why now? Why him? It doesn't make sense? Is this a joke? Anger keeps the chill at bay. No words for him. No greetings. Are his feelings so inconsequential they can be ignored like this ? Is he not good enough? His anger is quiet, simmering.

_The old snows melt from every mountain-side,_

_And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;_

And yet. Some things stay the same, even beyond death. Words that bridge over life and death. Words about Anakin. Again. Oh he knows. He knows that Qui Gon's ultimate gesture was about him. Just as the trembling fingertip that traced the tears silently rolling down his cheeks was _his_ . Jedi don't have material possession. But these memories are _his_ to keep. 

"I am here because _you_ are here."

Unheeding or maybe just oblivious to his former students' turmoil, Qui Gon speaks again, in the wise tone he used when he delivered a lesson. It brings back memories of a time long gone. Obi Wan bristles. The hole in his chest pulses in unison with the phantom beat of Qui Gon's heart. It's not a comfort. Only a reminder of what he lost.

Qui Gon stands tall and proud. His posture is relaxed and confident, one arm clasped behind his back, gaze soft but impersonal, as cold and distant as starlight. Everything about it drives Obi Wan wild.

"I….I don't understand, what is this place?" He's grasping at straws but his precious equilibrium eludes him completely. He's left floundering in a way he hasn't since Bandomeer…….or Naboo. As always, Qui Gon doesn't answer him plainly.

"Unlike any others, a conduit through which the entire Force of the universe flows" Qui Gon says. He doesn't look at Obi Wan. Qui Gon walks around him and turns his back to him, and he doesn't talk to him. Not really. He speaks. But those are not the words that matter. Not the ones Obi Wan is desperate to hear. 

He should have expected the riddle really. But it frustrates him. Obi Wan has no idea how much time he has with Qui Gon. But he knows, he feels it in his bones, in the rattling hole in his chest. They are pressed for time. The familiar ache in his chest reminds him so. 

This is a routine he is intimately familiar with. How many of Qui Gon's lessons had been riddles? How many times had he waited patiently for Obi Wan to figure out an answer ? Too many to count. But the mantle of the padawan learner has long been left behind and Obi Wan feels like he can't breathe. The hole inside of him rattles again, begging for attention that Obi Wan can't spare.

"Are we in danger?" He asks, saber still drawn, trying to get back to a more familiar terrain. The General may be sleeping, but Obi Wan is still able to be pragmatic. This is another routine. One he has performed a million times already. It's comforting. And the only thing he can still cling to when trying to make sense of this.

"This planet is both an amplifier and a magnet. There are three that seek Skywalker. They, like me, believe that he is the Chosen one." says Qui Gon again. And Obi Wan wants to scream. But he's tired and fears that his bones may shatter like clari-crystalline.

For one terrible, selfish moment, he doesn't care. He doesn't care about Anakin. Why should Obi Wan's life revolve around Anakin Skywalker? Doesn't he have any value on it's own? Hadn't he given enough of himself already? The abyss hums its approbation. 

Still Obi Wan seathes his lightsaber. He can do this. If not for himself, at least for Qui Gon, who came back from beyond the grave to look after Anakin. What does it matter if Qui Gon isn't here for him? 

It's already a miracle from the Force that Qui Gon could manifest himself. What can he do except agree with Qui Gon? They have so little time, it is so precious, he doesn't want to waste any of it by fighting.

"You were right, the Force within him is stronger than in any known jedi. I've trained him as well as I could….But he is still wilful and balance eludes him. " 

"If he is the Chosen One, we will discover it here." That surprises him. Qui Gon hadn't expressed the same doubts when abandoning him all those years ago in the Council chamber. Nor when he laid dying in Obi Wan's arms. 

"And if not?" Something unspeakable in him pushes the words out before he can catch them behind his teeth. And how terrible that it's those words that finally make Qui Gon turn to look at him. How terrible is it, that the only thing he had to do was doubt the prophecy and Qui Gon for the latter to finally pay attention to him. 

Even more terrible are Qui Gon's eyes. Silvery and strange, Obi Wan cannot read anything from them. The midnight blue that Obi Wan had so loved is as gone as Qui Gon. A terrible reminder that time is a cruel mistress who never turns back.

"Then you must realise that with his powers, this is a very dangerous place for him to be." Qui Gon says ominously.

Thunder crashes and lightning viciously lights up the cave. Time reasserts itself. Obi Wan startles out of his thoughts. Too late. Qui Gon is gone. He has slipped through Obi Wan's fingers once again. 

It's worse this time. There have been no goodbyes. No fleeting, heart wrenching touch. Just cold, impersonal distance as if Qui Gon had been light years away instead of standing just in front of him.

_Sorrow like ceaseless rain_

_Beats upon my heart_

The storm seethes outside. And Obi Wan is half tempted to go bury himself under the pouring rain and let it clean him. But he's been selfish enough. He can' leave Ahsoka there. Who knows what other dangers lurk in the dark.

_People twist and scream in pain,-_

_Dawn will find them still again;_

Still like Ahsoka. Still like he is. His feet are on the ground, but he feels like he's falling. He's sinking. The chasm welcomes him with open arms. It's terrifying, it's exhilarating. How could it have expanded so much when the space between his ribs feels so tight and his eyes sting from restrained tears?

_This has neither wax nor wane,_

_Neither stop nor start_

He feels tired. He had given everything he had and still Qui Gon asked for more. Never satisfied. Everything fades away. Only the abyss remains. Here on this planet, he's alone. The war is far away, Mace and Plo, Luminara, Quinlan, Anakin and Ahsoka, all of them are far away and he feels lost. The pull gets stronger.

A feeling like a shimmer on the edge of his perception. He turns his gaze away from the abyss. He heaves himself up from the pit he's fallen into and crashes back into reality. 

Is the blue of the crystals brighter? He can't tell. But something has changed. The air is lighter and the light a bit more radiant. He can feel the warmth of his miserable camp fire. He scuttles closer to it, absolutely exhausted. Sleep won't come. They have parted ways too long ago for him to expect sleep to visit him.

But...there _is_ something here. Bathed in a soft glow, eyes lost in the fire, there sits Qui Gon. Obi Wan is too tired for this. What can he do except sit across this new apparition. He collapses on the ground. Not looking at the ghost.

"Why did you come back?" he snaps. "If it is to remind me of my failings and lack of faith you can kindly pass your way. I've had enough." 

He waits. Oh how he waits for the reprimand that is sure to come. But none is forthcoming. Silence hangs between them, growing. He refuses to lay himself open to more criticism. And so he waits, arms crossed, eyes skirting the ground around him but unable to focus.

A familiar comforting voice rolls over him. The words are quiet, whispered to the night as an offering.

_I think I should have loved you presently,_

_And given in earnest words I flung in jest;_

_And lifted honest eyes for you to see,_

_And caught your hand against my cheek and breast;_

Obi Wan's breath hitches but he doesn't say a word. He knows this cadence like he knows his own voice, or at least knew until his voice became hoarse from barking orders and yelling across endless battlefields. This voice is home. And for a moment he allows himself to bask in the softness of the moment.

_And all my pretty follies flung aside_

_That won you to me, and beneath your gaze,_

_Naked of reticence and shorn of pride,_

_Spread like a chart my little wicked ways._

Another hitch in his breath. And another. The lump grows and grows until it engulfs his throat and eyes and nose. He can't breathe. He's suffocating. This is a cruel trick to play. Why come to him again, full to the brim with warmth and affection when every barbed rebuke had flayed him open?

"Open your eyes, my own, please." the voice pleads. 

This is wrong. Qui Gon was proud. He would never stoop to beg. Still he can't say no. Obi Wan obeys. Only then does he realise that he had closed his eyes. The complete darkness that had washed over him is nowhere to be seen now.

He raises his head, cheeks wet, eyes tearing up against his own judgement and is immediately ensnared by two glittering pools of midnight blue overflowing with emotions.

"There you are," the ghost of Qui Gon says, a tender smile on his lips. It's too much. It's not enough. Obi Wan jumps to his feet and crosses the divide between them in one great stride. He crumples into a heap a hairbreadth away from the glowing blue silhouette. He yearns to touch. He wants to reach so badly. But he fears disappointment even more.

"Tell me this is real!" He begs, trembling, crying. The memory of a touch washes over him. A hand that is not there settles behind his neck, taking his head in a gentle ghostly grasp that he can almost feel.

"I am as real as you are my heart." The ghost soothes. It's enough. Obi Wan lets go. He collapses. He cries like he couldn't on Naboo, on Coruscant and all the times after. He cries for something that had never been his and yet that had been torn from his side. He cries and the abyss cries with him. 

The storm of his emotions quietens. The rain outside the cave dissolves into oblivion. Only a soft pitter-patter remains. Thunder and lightning quieten and then cease. When he feels more like the Jedi Master he is supposed to be, more in control of his emotions, Obi Wan looks up from the almost-there-but-not-quite chest he's buried in.

He knows the softness of those threadbare tunics and robes. He knows this silvering mane, an echo to the patches of silver that now adorn his own temples. He can't help himself. His hand reaches out like he yearned to do so many times before, and tangles itself in the long strands that he can no longer physically feel. Before crushing disappointment can overwhelm him, he throws caution to the wind and reaches out, with his mind, his heart and the Force.

 _Oh. he thinks. It is really you._ Not his fears, which he suspects is what he has been facing up until now. Not his grief and anger, but Qui Gon. How this planet could rip his emotions and memories from his mind to make him dance like a puppet, he doesn't know. 

He fears anew for Anakin, for Ahsoka, for every victim this planet ever had in its clutches. There is something sadistic and profoundly wrong at work here. Deliberately, he pushes these dark musings from his mind. Here and now, he chooses Qui Gon. Again. Like he had so many times before. And like Qui Gon encouraged him in the past, he flings himself in the moment and just feels.

He feels Qui Gon in the Force, how his presence encompasses his own and how both blend together. He doesn't know where Qui Gon ends and where Obi Wan begins. Here in the Force his fingers weave into silken strands as a kiss is bestowed upon his forehead. 

For the first in a very long time, embers long dormant and buried deep under the ashes of despair sparkle to life. That single spot of gentle warmth on his forehead spreads to his core. The Force ripples like a singing brook. He is finally home again. Serene tears prickle at the corner of his physical eyes as the raging abyss finally quietens down, withdraws and settles in a soft hum of contentment, it's hunger finally appeased.

Obi Wan finally withdraws. Not completely. Just enough that he can gaze at those craggy beloved features and commit this new appearance to memory. The soft glow of him. The peaceful radiance. None of the arch severity of the first ghostly intruder is visible. Only love.

This time it's Qui Gon that reaches out to him, spectral hands tracing Obi Wan's features with heartbreaking tenderness.

"I am so proud of you my own. You have done so well and fought for so long. Rest your burden at my feet and be with me for as long as the Force allows it" Qui Gon hummed. Obi Wan knew, the night or what was left of it belonged to them, an impossible moment freely gifted.

 _The Force will provide_ , Qui Gon had been fond of saying. If this was such a case, Obi Wan had never been one to look a gift bantha in the mouth. Later he would hoard this memory like he had once cherished a certain river rock.

"Forgive me for rushing ahead of you," Qui Gon went on, "but I was so terrified my heart, I would never have forgiven the Force had it taken you in my place. For all the grief it caused you, I am sorry. But I would do it again, Obi Wan. This is my truth, and I give it to you." 

_I, that had been to you, had you remained,_

_But one more waking from a recurrent dream,_

_Cherish no less the certain stakes I gained,_

_And walk your memory’s halls, austere, supreme,_

_A ghost in bronze of a man you knew_

_Who would have loved you in a day or two._

This was another gift, and Obi Wan offered his own truth in return, reaching out once again to the deep-rooted, wide-reaching vibrant rustling tree that was Qui Gon's presence in the Force.

"I have mourned you. And missed you, more than I should have perhaps. But you are here now and my fears are finally soothed. I know now that when my time is finally up, you will be waiting for me at the end of the path. And I shall not rush to meet you."

"And you shouldn't." Approved Qui Gon. "And when it is finally time for you to meet me one last time, I shall greet you with open arms."

"And I will fill that space and never again shall we be apart." promised Obi Wan.

 _There is no death, there is the Force_ echoes in unison between them. No more words are spoken that night. And when dawn finally filters through the cave, Qui Gon gently fades away like dew under the morning light. And when Ahsoka finally emerges from the deep clutches of sleep, panting and afraid Obi Wan is there to soothe her, a serene smile on his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> All the poems featured in this story are the work of Edna Saint-Vincent Millay. Featured in order : Sonnet II, Sorrow, and Sonnet IX. The title of this work is also taken from the one of her poems Kin to Sorrow.
> 
> The inspiration for General Kenobi being a persona that Obi Wan assumes comes from Malalignement from Tohje (If you haven't read it, I highly encourage you to do so).


End file.
